


Heaven is unconcerned with the lost - so C.S. Lewis said

by Carliro



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Heaven, Hell, The Problem of Susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carliro/pseuds/Carliro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deconstruction of susanfics. Do note that "deconstruction" =/= depressing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven is unconcerned with the lost - so C.S. Lewis said

Why? Why such callousness? Why is the giver of love it's remourseless tyrant?

Susan just didn't want grief. She did as any normal person would do, trying to cope with real life. Contrary to her sibilings, she did remember. She did remember a time that wasn't "a dream of a dream"; she remembered being a real queen, a real saviour. When she was a queen, she admited perhaps not as sincere a dilligence as she should have displayed, but by God did she try to be a good ruler. Narnia was at peace, even when Calormene didn't want it to be. Her subjects were not displeased, to the point that she was embrassed by the undeserving devotion. She wasn't a bad queen, as far as everybody told her.

And then she was denied access to Narnia. She knew, on the back of her mind, she perhaps did not deserve Narnia, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

So, what the hell did they want her to do? To worship memories fervently, ignoring the real world closing in at all sides? Peter - poor Peter - was so sincere in his faith for Narnia, but that costed him all credibility. He was "loony Peter", "heathen Peter", bruised and skin darkened by wounds. Even the teachers, kind as their masks were, could not feign ridicule. She might had been cowardly, but at least she wasnt an outcast. Granted, that did sound a bit too selfish, but it wasn't her fault anyway.

But alas, just as Peter had the wolves closing in, so did she, except her wolves were cormorants and herons. Even with all her work, she could swear her "friends" would destroy her if they saw it fit. In retrospect, maybe she should had remained a "Narnia zealot". At least she wouldn't be so unbearably alone.

After the incident, Susan was taken to an orphanage in Oxfordshire. All children were much younger than her, at most 12. And the loneliness grew.

Every night, she cried. The dawn, once beautiful, was now a vain mistress, heralding days of ice not unlike Jadis'. No one showed her kindness beyond "Oh, you poor thing! How horrible is it that you've failed to die with the rest of your family?", which, while not as sincere as one might think, was still hurtful. She wasn't hurt, not like even a fifth of how Peter had been, but at that point, she wished she was. She prayed the ice would break - how ironic, given her predicament -, even if she had to limp for the rest of her life.

As the weeks turned to months, she also saw the further consequences of her age. The only person even willing to give her a break from the ice world was an older man, his flesh distorted by the War not too long ago dead, who eyed her like the calormene prince. Thankfully, even the orphanage mistresses weren't THAT blind. But, in retrospect, even that would have been better than being completly sealed from humanity.

***

Two months, three weeks, two days.

"Susan, dinner is served!" shouted Miss Dawncharm angrily.

No response.

"Susan, dinner is served!" shouted the lady again, this time slightly more irritated.

Again, no response.

"Susan, what the hell are you doing, you bloody idiot!? Dinner is served!"

The door was opened hastily.

The door was bathed in a somber sunset, painting it in tones of orange. There was also red in it, albeit on the sheets and floor.

Miss Dawncharm was shocked, to say the least. She gave a nervous laugh, that converted into hyena-chant, then she fell on the ground crying herself to obivion.

***

Susan wandered in darkness, as if dreaming, but not really dreaming. She was already suspecting her fate.

Wherever she was, there was no ground. She walked, but she did not feel anything by the void - she supposed she was far too used to walking to do anything else. She wandered the emptiness, for how long not clear, as all notions of time disappeared. As far as she was aware, it could had been anywhere from a few minutes to countless eons. Every once in a while, the blackness was punctuated by distant white glows of stars, that pierced her eyes like arrows, but they were cold and lifeless. One particular glow, of a bluish, White Dwarf pedigree, attracted her. It was distant, but she knew she had to reach it.

Strangely, in spite of the void, the journey was harsh. Her legs began to harden, begging for rest, but of what use was rest here? Was this her punishment in Hell, to wander forever after a star, her legs begging for mercy for all eternity?

Frankly, she did not care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing except that light. If fate - God, even - was this unfair, and this unavoidable, she might as well indulge it's sadistic glee.

As she wandered, though, it became clear she was oing some sort of progress. The glow, however distant, was becoming more intense and wider. It was still cold and lifeless, but in the blackness, even the harshest light was welcome. More curiously, the light seemed to be approaching her.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. The furious, cruel roar of a lion erupted through the void, and a burst of orange radiance exploded not too far away from her, a burst of flames in the void.

She knew her world had died, as Narnia had perished, in a time incomprehensible to her.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a cold, aethereal voice said from behind her.

Susan smiled, but did not turn. She knew who it was - she had heard that voice so long ago, sometimes in her nightmares -, and, for the first time in her existence, she was glad to hear it.

"Yes, it's amazing."

A tear rolled down her cheek, not in sorrow, but in joy. The orange flames lasted for God knows how long, and they were captivating, beautiful. Amidst the flames, she swore having seen tormented faces and agony-rich screams, which started to punctuate her heart with feelings of guilt. Still, art is art, no matter who has to suffer for it.

Finally, as the flames began to die, she turned. The light, so intense it would blind millions of human eyes, did not bother her the least. It felt cold, but a nice sort of cold, like the scottish winter.

As she looked into the light, she saw a figure. A woman it was, clad in white, with an ice crown and a wicked wand of stone.

"Jadis, is it?" Susan asked.

"Yes, that is my name."

They didn't say anything. They didn't had to. For the rest of all eternity, they would bask in each other's company, in the black void of Hell.


End file.
